


Punch-Drunk Lust

by jellybeanforest



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha Tony Stark, Anal Plugs, Bottom Tony Stark, Brief Mentions of Past Stucky, Cap-Ironman Bingo, Cap-Ironman Kinkmeme Prompt, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fist Fight, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Intimate Partner Violence, Jealousy, Knotting, M/M, Omegaverse, Painful Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sparring as foreplay, Switching, Top Steve Rogers, light homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 01:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20715548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest
Summary: The interpersonal chemistry between Steve Rogers and Tony Stark is undeniable, but both being alphas, they are not sexually compatible in the slightest. So, they come up with a method to determine who tops: a no-holds-barred wrestling match for dominance with Tony in his suit to even the odds.Based on a Cap-IronMan Kinkmeme Prompt requesting Alpha Steve/Alpha Tony. For the Cap-IronMan Bingo 2019 Round 2 – Fist Fight.





	Punch-Drunk Lust

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic is basically the progression of Steve and Tony’s relationship as told via the sex they have, so it’s basically a bunch of smut. Also, in case this is not obvious, Tony and Steve essentially wrestle each other into submission with the winner penetrating the loser afterwards. They both agree to the terms, and it’s not like the winner is going to tear into the loser sans lube or anything super horrifying like that, but consent is still extremely dubious, and at least early on, the sex is very painful for the loser because alphas are not designed to take a knot.

When Tony was small, every year on the anniversary of Captain America’s death, Howard Stark would sit back in his overstuffed leather chair with two fingers of scotch taken neat and beckon for him to sit at his knee and hear the tale of the bravest hero he’d ever met during the great war, the man who saved New York City at the expense of his own life. Howard rarely acknowledged Tony, seemed to barely remember he had a son most days, so Tony cherished these moments, drinking in Howard’s attention while he could, in the years before he told himself he didn’t need his father’s approval.

“Did I ever tell you about how we made Captain America?” Howard slurs.

He had, but Tony shakes his head no, thinking it will prolong their time together.

“Well, Rogers – he was Steve Rogers long before he ever was Captain America – was the scrawniest, weakest alpha you ever did see, but he had heart and the biggest set of brass ones I ever witnessed. Ol’ Doc Erskine – rest his soul – saw it long before the rest of us. Picked him out special. Took the treatments like a champ even though they must’a hurt like a sonuvabitch, and came out the other end big and strong and ready to serve his country,” he looks into his drink now, swirling the heavy glass. “And serve it he did.”

A pause. Another sip.

Tony pipes up, “Because that’s what heroes do.”

“Yes,” Howard confirms, “He was a true alpha, that Captain America. If you grow up to be half the alpha he was…” but he trails off, leaving the thought unfinished. Instead he drains his glass. Tony will never measure up to that impossible standard, so there is no point in wishing for it to be so.

That’s what Tony understands the gesture to mean anyway, and even then, he rebels against the unspoken censure. “Mom says I might be an omega.”

“You aren’t, son,” Howard says with all the confidence of a man two drinks past good judgment. “You’re an alpha. Like me. Like Captain America.” Hanging the glass low from the tips of his fingers, he swirls it out of habit. “I don’t make sissies.”

* * *

By the time Tony presents as an alpha at the tender age of thirteen (much to his father’s delight), he has an entire collection of Captain America memorabilia he proudly displays in his room and a full-blown crush on the man that he hides from Howard. He already knows what his father would say if he knew: _It’s deviant. Shameful. No son of mine…_

An alpha shouldn’t fantasize about another alpha.

Some days, he wants to tell Howard just to see how he’d react, but there are just some things that can’t be unsaid, and Tony isn’t ready to be disowned. Not yet anyway. Not when it meant putting Mom in a tight spot between her husband and her son.

But maybe one day…

That day never comes when nine years later, both his parents die in a car accident. The police report never divulged any specifics nor did the autopsy performed after, but Howard was driving and he is – _was_ – an alcoholic.

Tony vows never to forgive him.

* * *

Tony is forty-two when S.H.I.E.L.D. finds Captain America frozen in the Arctic. He meets Steve Rogers for the first time and realizes Howard left out a few details.

_One: Steve Rogers has no sense of style._

“The Stark Tower? That big ugly…” he trails off when Tony gives him a look, “building in New York?”

Nice save. A little too late though.

_Two: Steve Rogers is a dick._

“You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero,” he says, scowling at Tony.

Something inside Tony, perhaps a tiny shred of hero worship and longing still remaining from his childhood, shrivels before he lashes out like a wounded animal, “A hero? Like you?” he spits out. “You’re a lab rat, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle.”

Steve nods fractionally, as if everything he has ever thought about Tony had just been confirmed. “Put on the suit, let’s go a few rounds,” he challenges him.

_Three: Steve Rogers might be smart, but he’s not tech-savvy in the slightest._

“I need you to get to that engine control panel and tell me which relays are in overload position,” Tony instructs rather patiently considering the circumstances. “What’s it look like in there?”

“…It seems to run on some form of electricity,” Steve replies after a beat.

To be fair, the man did miss 66 years, so he’s bound to be a little behind on the times. Even so, Tony is pretty sure they had electrical circuits in 1945.

_But by far, the largest, most glaring omission is that Steve Rogers is an excellent kisser. _

Tony blames the residual adrenaline high from the battle against the Chitauri and a certain ill-advised carpe-diem exuberance borne of his near-death experience for what happens in a deserted conference room at the Triskelion after the Avengers’ debrief.

Fury had stopped Steve on his way out and ordered him to hash things out with Tony, seeing as how they were going to be working together more often in the future. He is also under the crazy notion that teaming up the ‘Man out of Time’ with the ‘World’s Premier Futurist’ is a good idea unlikely to end in one or both of their deaths. Tony had never taken Fury for an optimist, but here they were. So what had started as a demand for an apology had led to a shouting match then somehow segued into yet another challenge.

“Don’t you ever shut up?” Steve rages, getting right in Tony’s face in typical alpha fashion.

Tony doesn’t back down, also a common response for an alpha. “Make me.”

Steve snarls, then does something logical yet completely unexpected. He pulls Tony into a bear hug to hold him steady, bodily preventing any struggle with his superhuman strength, then plants his lips over Tony’s own, rendering him speechless, nearly breathless.

Tony’s first instinct is to bite the other man’s lip off, but the surprise gives him pause, and then his childhood fantasies supply an entirely different counter-attack, one which he has been dreaming about for decades. If he happens to enjoy it a little too much, no one will be the wiser. This is war after all, and Tony isn’t above fighting dirty to win.

So, he parts the seam of Steve’s lips with his own, his tongue invading to tangle with Steve’s in wet wide swipes as he deepens their kiss.

If this is how Captain America wants to play, then he picked the wrong alpha. Tony has _never_ lost a game of gay chicken, even when none of his prior opponents have ever been quite as attractive as Steve Rogers.

Surprisingly, Steve doesn’t back off, instead he lifts Tony up by his thighs to tip him backwards onto the conference table, trailing down his chin to suck at the pulse point of his neck, teasing the skin there with his teeth and tongue. Upping the ante, Tony arches his spine to curl up against Steve, rubbing his pelvis against the man’s bulk while his hands reach for the fasteners holding the uniform closed. His clever fingers make quick work of the straps and zippers, peeling off his top before going for his pants. Steve must have noticed the incongruity between their states of undress, because now he’s attacking Tony’s suit, pulling off his jacket to toss aside and ripping open his shirt, sending the buttons flying.

Tony breaks the kiss, breathing heavily and pushing Steve back to allow himself space to breathe and sit up, as well as bat Steve’s hands down to prevent him from removing Tony’s undershirt and revealing the mess of scars crisscrossing his chest.

“Christ, Cap; I only have the one shirt here,” he complains instead, already making a mental note to have Happy bring him a spare.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Steve says, his voice low and husky, relocating his hands to the outside Tony’s undershirt before capturing his lips once again in an all-consuming kiss.

And with that kind of incentive, how could Tony resist? Still, he would like to see Captain America unmoored and off-balanced, less sure of himself, if only for the one time. That’s what he tells himself when he slips his hand into Steve’s briefs to cup his growing erection. To his satisfaction, Steve shudders, breaking their kiss to look at Tony, desire in his half-lidded eyes.

Tony feels a moment of triumph before Steve abruptly turns him over to face the conference table, one hand palming the crease of his ass while the other reaches around to unzip his pants.

“Whoa there. Hold on a minute!” Tony protests, his hand covering Steve’s own on his zipper. “I’m… I’m not an omega,” he stammers, his breath steadying. Tony might mess around a bit here and there with the odd alpha on occasion, but a line had to be drawn somewhere.

_There goes my perfect score on gay chicken,_ he thinks wildly, trying to tamp down the panic. He tries to push against Steve, who remains unmoved, pinning him to the table. If Steve is so inclined, he could make Tony submit. He could hold him down, force himself into the too-small space of Tony’s body, tear him up from the inside. The walls of the Triskelion are soundproof, he knows; no one would hear Tony scream.

Instead, Steve lets go and steps away. “Well, I’m not either,” he says, stating the obvious, adjusting his pants and putting his uniform to rights.

Tony finds and puts on his discarded clothes as well, buttoning up the suit jacket to cover his ruined shirt, fingers trembling. “Okay then, we have established what we both aren’t,” he babbles, not quite looking at Steve.

“Right.”

“And this can’t happen again,” Tony presses, emphasizing the obvious, “We aren’t even sexually compatible. This was a mistake.”

Steve gives a curt nod. “Agreed.”

* * *

It happens again.

One moment, they’re at each other’s throats, disagreeing over something neither of them could remember after – which is impressive considering Tony is a genius and Steve has an eidetic memory – and the next, they’re literally at each other’s throats, necking. Tony hovers over Steve, nibbling at his ear and whispering nonsense as Steve jerks him off and presses kisses to his jawline.

* * *

And again.

Someone had eaten the last pop tart and left the empty box behind. Neither of them would cop to it nor would they consider other more-likely culprits, and it had turned into another heavy make-out session with Steve lifting and pinning Tony against the fridge for better leverage. They break apart when Steve hears Banner’s footfalls heading towards the kitchen for a midnight snack.

It turns out Thor had eaten it; though if Tony is being honest with himself, he had half-expected that from the beginning.

* * *

And again.

Tony had been running his mouth, so Steve decided to fill it with his cock, finding it a better use for his mouth. The hand gripping Tony’s hair isn’t forceful, and Tony can pull off any time he wants.

He doesn’t want to, until Steve pulls him up himself when his knot began to fill, concerned the other man would suffocate.

Tony chalks that up as a win in his ongoing gay chicken competition against Steve.

* * *

And again.

They weren’t even fighting this time. Steve had returned, sweaty and musky from training, and Tony had pounced on him. In his defense, it had been a while since he’d had a partner in his bed, not since Afghanistan, not since before the arc reactor thrumming in his chest. Though he claims he prefers it, nobody ever touches him anymore, except Steve after one of their spats, and he grows weary of excusing each lapse, chalking it up to adrenaline fueling their mutual attraction and not something deeper and far more dangerous.

“Aren’t you tired of pretending this isn’t what it is?” Tony asks after their mutual hand jobs, when Steve is busy pulling up his pants and buckling them closed.

“And what do you think this is?” he asks tentatively.

“I think you like me,” Tony replies. Steve pinks, but before he can deny it, Tony continues, “I like you, too.”

Steve waits a long agonizing moment before confirming what Tony already knows, has long suspected: “I do.”

“So, we’re really doing this?”

“Guess so.”

* * *

Informing the Avengers is surprisingly easy. Tony and Steve simply stop hiding it and wait for their team, which includes two top S.H.I.E.L.D. spies, to notice.

“Finally,” Natasha says, when they hold hands on the couch during movie night.

Clint looks perplexed. “How does it even work betw– Ow!” he massages his arm where Natasha had elbowed him in her reach for the kettle corn.

“Popcorn?” she offers some to Steve, who accepts the treat graciously.

“I, for one, think it’s a splendid turn of events,” remarks Thor, who still fails to understand secondary genders nor could he fathom how Tony and Steve might possibly be mismatched.

“Could we just watch the movie now, guys?” Bruce asks, directing everyone’s attention towards the screen and away from the sex lives of Captain America and Iron Man.

S.H.I.E.L.D. operates on a strict don’t ask, don’t tell policy. Fury isn’t blind – he has the one working eye – so it’s not like he doesn’t know. He just chooses to ignore any inconvenient truths as irrelevant to the Avengers Initiative and frankly none of his motherfucking business. His tacit approval (or rather lack of disapproval) does nothing for Tony – he couldn’t care less about his opinion – but it is a relief for Steve who seems to almost expect a blue ticket.

Really, there’s no one left to be disappointed in Tony anymore. He doesn’t have any family, except Rhodey, and telling Honeybear is easy.

“So, you and Captain America?” Rhodey asks on their next weekly video call.

“Yep.”

“Isn’t he an alpha?”

“Yep.”

“Huh.” Tony can see the wheels turning, Rhodey recalibrating, reconciling the new information with what he knows about Tony, then finally registering acceptance. “He better make you happy.”

“He does.”

“Good.”

* * *

His relationship with Steve is… nice, he supposes.

They date, cuddle, have (nonpenetrative) sex – which Tony doesn’t miss in the slightest (liar) – but he and Steve still clash on occasion. The omegas Tony dated before hadn’t been nearly as opinionated nor dominant, but he supposes that is to be expected in a relationship between two alphas. So, they talk it out, find shared ground, and compromise. It’s more work, but Steve is worth it, and Tony supposes he must be worth it, too, if Steve is willing to put forth the effort.

Really, it’s perplexing if Tony thinks about it too long. Steve can have anyone, and yet he chooses Tony, an alpha who not only challenges him constantly but is more of a handful than average. Tony chooses not to question why that may be. Perhaps Steve just likes doing everything the hard way. Why should his love life be any different?

“Missed you, sweetheart,” Steve says, hugging Tony from behind when he arrives in the lab. Pepper had tricked Tony into attending a number of meetings at Stark Industries by creatively re-labeling them with irresistible acronyms in his calendar.

It isn’t fair. How could Tony not attend something called S.T.R.I.P.T.E.A.S.E. which turned out to stand for Stark Technology Review of Innovative Products: The Eminent Aquisition of Sahadi Enterprises? _It’s imminent, Pepper, not eminent,_ he had complained. _Would you have attended S.T.R.I.P.T.I.A.S.E.?_ she had countered. Damn it. Pepper is using his affinity for nomenclature and naked dancers against him.

Because she is a traitor.

Who probably deserves a raise.

“Did the strippers get you all worked up?” Steve murmurs suggestively, his fingers trailing down to palm his groin.

Tony plants his hands on the counter, tilting his head back to rest against Steve’s shoulder, allowing him access to his neck. “There were no strippers, Steve,” he reports, glumly. “Only lies. Lies and paperwork.”

“Oh… need a distraction?” he unbuckles Tony’s pants.

“Yes, please.”

Steve is all too happy to oblige.

* * *

Tony really has no cause to complain. Steve is considerate, funny, and extremely handsome. It’s his healthiest relationship in years, which honestly says more about himself than he’s willing to examine, but Tony still wants more.

He can tell Steve wants more, too. He doesn’t push the issue… much, but occasionally, he’ll lave his tongue over Tony’s absent bonding gland, and his fingers will trail over his lover’s (dry) asshole, prompting Tony to remind him, _Still an alpha, Steve._ Steve would blush – _I know_ – and they’ll go back to kissing, his hands placed firmly above the beltline.

It comes to Tony one day while boxing with Happy. Happy drops him on the mat two seconds after his epiphany, but Tony doesn’t care. He has a proposal, a solution to their sexual incompatibility. He calls Steve to his lab, telling him to suit up first. By the time he arrives, Tony has donned his latest Iron Man armor, modified to exclude repulsors and weapons, only offering enhanced strength and bodily durability.

“I’ve got it, Cap!” Tony always called him Cap as Iron Man.

Steve cants his head to one side, observing that Tony has cleared out a large circle in the middle of his workshop testing zone and now stands in the center. “Got what?”

“How we can have sex.”

“We’re already having sex.”

“Not like that. I mean… you know, sex in the traditional sense,” Tony clarifies.

Steve frowns. “Are you unsatisfied with our sex life?” he asks slowly, as if he himself hadn’t been wanting a shot at being inside Tony for months.

“No!” Tony exclaims immediately, followed by a sheepish, “…Maybe.”

Steve looks crushed.

“But I’ve figured it out. How about we spar for it? Winner gets to top the first month, and then we’ll go again to determine the second. So on and so forth. We just have to use a lot of lube and go slow,” Tony lays out his plan excitedly. “I’m already suited up and ready to go if you are. Unless you want to stretch first?”

Steve considers it for a moment before walking into the center of the ring, “Okay, let’s go.” He slips into fighting stance across from Tony.

It’s a close match with them fighting hand-to-hand and Tony in his armor to even the odds. Tony is actually good, even without his weapons and clever little gadgets.

But Steve is better.

Within five minutes, he has Tony on the floor, arms hooked around his neck and legs splayed for traction to pin Tony with his heft. “You tapping out?” he grunts, his hold tightening.

Tony struggles a bit more, his feet trying to find purchase against the mat but only succeeding in flailing heavily in his armor, unable to break Steve’s superhuman hold. “Yeah, Cap,” he stills. “You win.”

He hasn’t even finished speaking when Steve releases him, re-positioning himself to hover over the metal suit, his fingers curling into the release hatch across his hip and breath fogging up the metal over his ear. “You’re mine, sweetheart,” he disengages the pelvic plate, tossing it to the side in his excitement. “All mine.” His pupils are blown wide, making his blue eyes look dark.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., initiate protocol E.L.V.I.S.”

“Of course, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replies. “Initiating.” The lab windows frost to complete opacity, the locks engage, and the cameras go dark.

“Now, we’re alone until I give the word to lift the blackout.”

“E.L.V.I.S.?”

“Even Losing, Victorious I Stand,” Tony replies, his visor popping open. “Now, help me get out of this thing.”

Steve’s smile is broad. “Gladly.”

His hands ghost down the inside of Tony’s thigh, reaching inside a crevice for the release hatch, unwrapping his prize like an early Christmas present.

By the time they’re both stripped, relocated to the cot in one corner, and Steve has retrieved the lube from the appropriate drawer per Tony’s direction – _What? If you had a fully-loaded VR system installed in your personal lab, you wouldn’t try out the obvious off-label use?_ – Tony’s slight apprehension turns into curious excitement. He had always been a sexual libertine, willing to try anything at least once (usually twice to make sure the first time hadn’t been a fluke), but the experience of being fucked by another alpha is surprisingly new ground for him. He had never felt the desire to indulge in that particular activity, at least not before Steve. So as they kiss, Steve taking the lead by laying Tony down on his back and slipping a tongue into his mouth, Tony only tenses a little when Steve slides one slick finger into his ass then holds it still for him to get accustomed to the intrusion.

It’s an odd sensation but not entirely unpleasant, so Tony tentatively bears down a bit to persuade Steve to continue. Steve does, thrusting his lone finger into Tony’s ass, slicking up the passage in preparation for bigger and better things. When Tony hardens from half-mast to full-on erection, Steve takes that as his cue to add a second finger, pressing his thumb into Tony’s taint for a firm massage, sending electric waves of pleasure up his lover’s spine.

“You like that?” Steve whispers, low and breathy, against his lips.

Tony can only shudder, temporarily speechless, which Steve takes as the encouragement it is, continuing his ministrations until the other man is soft and pliant in his arms.

Steve removes his fingers, guiding his dick towards Tony’s entrance and pushing inside, sighing when fully seated, his wet eyes, filled with wonder and gratefulness, look into his lover’s. For his part, Tony sucks in a breath at the tight fit, causing Steve to still and allow him time to adjust while pumping Tony’s dick leisurely, angled just the way he likes it with the amount of pressure he knows Tony prefers. He kisses him again and starts to thrust, shallow and slow as Tony moans against his mouth.

Once Tony gets past the initial discomfort, it actually feels good. Very good.

Steve then lifts him up completely to reposition them both with Steve sitting on the bed and bundling Tony in his lap, Tony’s legs hooked over Steve’s strong arms, allowing him to piston Tony up and down his length. Tony loops his arms around Steve’s shoulders for leverage, bringing his neck close to the other man’s face. Steve takes advantage of the proximity to plant kisses on the hollow of Tony’s neck at the base, sucking and nipping the tender flesh where an omega would normally have their bonding gland. Tony can feel his orgasm build, the pleasure rising with every snap of Steve’s hips, the almost-dark satisfaction heightened and accentuated by how wrong it all is. Tony is an alpha. He is meant to fuck, not be fucked, and yet, here he is, being manhandled and his hole slicked up and worked open for use by another alpha, entirely for the other’s pleasure. It’s dirty. It’s unnatural. It shouldn’t be happening.

It’s some of the hottest sex Tony has ever had.

And perhaps one day soon, he will have the opportunity to show Steve how pleasurable it can be from the other end.

He’s lost in the feelings overwhelming him that he barely notices when it starts to go wrong. The slight bulge at the base of Steve’s dick engorges, slowly at first, causing a mild ache Tony finds easy to ignore until it locks in place and pulls, forcing a high-pitched panicked sound from his throat when he finds himself unable to dislodge the growing knot. Steve’s hips stutter to a stop, but it’s too late.

Tony’s whine cuts off with a punched-out gasp as the knot swells well past the threshold of discomfort, forcibly spreading his anal cavity in a piercing stab of pain.

“Cap,” he chokes out, near breathless for an entirely different reason than before, “Nngh. Steve… Steve, it- it hurts.” Tony desperately scrabbles at his back, writhing, nails biting into Steve’s flesh, tearing at the skin. “I can’t–” he whimpers when the knot within grows impossibly wider, sealing him up indefinitely as Steve continues to spill load after load inside him, adding to the sensation of unbearable fullness. Tony’s own dick lies limp and soft between them, his erection flagging at the intense pain before he could finish.

Steve stills, shushing Tony. He drops Tony’s legs and holds him tight to comfort him. They both know Steve can’t remove his knot nor deflate it any faster. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he caresses Tony’s sweaty back rhythmically, the muscles spasming under his touch. “Just relax,” he tries again.

But Tony can’t possibly, not with Steve buried so deep inside, occupying – and likely tearing into – a space that was never designed to accommodate his ever-expanding girth. Tony can only cling to him, his legs shaking on either side of Steve’s hips until the swell of his knot crests, holding its enormous size but thankfully growing no further.

Steve is muttering assurances, stroking from Tony’s hair to his neck down to his back then up again, but it’s all white noise to Tony, who lies slack, slumped against him. Every little tug, every attempt to escape, burns white-hot on his overstretched hole and elicits a hiss from Steve.

“Don’t move,” he orders, holding Tony steady to still his movements.

_Will Steve want to do this again?_ Tony wonders, through a haze of pain, alternately sharp and aching as his muscles twitch in protest against the too-large intrusion. It is Steve’s right, what they both agreed to at the start, that the winner will be allowed use of the loser’s body to their own satisfaction until their next sparring bout in a month’s time. How many times will Tony have to endure until then, to spread his legs and welcome Steve into his body? Will he be able to hold steady knowing that this was what he had to look forward to, or will Steve be forced to part his trembling thighs himself to plunge inside? Tony supposes he won’t have to wait long to find out. Perhaps tomorrow, or maybe sooner still, depending on whether the serum affected Steve’s libido as well as his endurance and stamina.

It’s a full half-hour before Steve’s knot deflates enough for him to disengage from Tony’s body, and when he slips out with a wet pop, Tony feels the rush of cum leaking from his throbbing hole. The emptiness after being full for so long is a new type of ache, and he curls into his middle to crush it down while choking on sobs threatening to overwhelm him. He doesn’t dare manually inspect his hole – not yet anyway – worried any touch might come away red. Maybe later, when he has rinsed off most of the mess and is soaking in the bath, he can check for damage.

…Will Steve allow Tony time to heal in between? It’s another wrinkle to consider, something they hadn’t ironed out in that first burst of excitement when they thought they had found a solution to their biological incompatibilities. And now, Steve owned his ass with no recourse, no room for renegotiating terms. But Steve likes him, doesn’t he? He wouldn’t hold him to the letter of such a deal, not when the result is _this_.

“Steve…” he croaks, voice thin and raspy.

“Shhhh… Tony, I know,” Steve coos, standing up from the cot. “I know it hurts. I’m going to make it better. It’ll get better, you’ll see.” He cups Tony’s face with a large palm, smoothing his hair back from his forehead tacky with drying sweat, before turning to head towards the bathroom.

That answers that, then. There will be a next time. Many next times over the coming weeks until Steve either stumbles across a way to lessen the pain or kills Tony trying.

When Steve emerges carrying a cloth and washbasin filled with warm water, he sets about gently wiping down Tony, expending extra care when he prods his puffed hole, drawing back when Tony hisses at the pain then returning with softer passes of the cloth. When Steve has deemed him sufficiently clean, he re-dresses him in a change of boxer briefs and a tank he’d found stuffed in the linen closet for when Tony sleeps in his lab overnight. Tony lets him manhandle him into position, limbs loose like a rag doll.

“Would you like to go to your room?” Steve asks softly, pressing a kiss to Tony’s forehead.

Tony is not sure he can stand, much less walk towards the private elevator connecting the lab to his bedroom. “That’s okay. I’ve spent more than one night here. Just… this cot is fine. Perfect, really.” He needs a moment to breathe, to take stock and recalibrate, preferably away from Steve.

“I can carry you,” the chivalrous but completely oblivious man suggests, lifting him rather easily bridal-style, his arms cradling Tony’s upper back and drawing up under his knees. “It’s no bother.”

“Woah, Cap,” Tony reflexively clasps his shoulder for support. “Well, if you insist…”

It’s a short trip up the elevator, opening into the foyer of his expansive bedroom. Steve steps around the central wall housing the entertainment center, making his way towards the bed where he lays Tony down, then settles in on the other side, cuddling in close.

Though exhausted, Tony can’t sleep, the deep ache in his ass making itself known with every change of position. Steve massages his belly lightly, soothingly, but it’s little consolation. Eventually, Tony drops off into a light, fitful sleep, nestled against the firm curve of Steve’s body.

* * *

The next morning, Tony tries to get up early to exit the bed before Steve wakes, which doesn’t quite work out considering the man wakes up at the crack of dawn regularly. So, the minute he stirs, Steve is already up, pulling him close, encapsulating him within the warmth of the blankets.

“It’s early, sweetheart,” Steve mumbles. “Cold outside.”

Tony subtly tries to disentangle himself from lover’s limbs. “Can’t lay around in bed all day. A lot to do.”

“You stay; I’ll make breakfast and bring you coffee,” Steve insists, getting up himself and tucking Tony back in place. “Black, right?”

“You know what I like,” Tony replies from within his blanket cocoon. Either way will put some much-needed distance between the two of them.

Once Steve leaves, Tony calls out to J.A.R.V.I.S. “Peppercorn, J.”

“Good morning, sir. I see that you and Captain Rogers made it to the bedroom,” J.A.R.V.I.S. observes. “May I draw you a warm bath?”

“No need. I want you to put my bedroom on lockdown. No calls. No visitors. No elevator access.”

“Captain Rogers is currently in the kitchen making pancakes, eggs, and copious amounts of bacon that does not bode well for your cholesterol levels. Should I make an exception?”

“No, just tell him… tell him something came up. With SI. Urgent. Couldn’t wait. Have to take a rain check on breakfast.”

There’s a long pause before J.A.R.V.I.S. speaks again. “I am registering heightened levels of stress as well as tearing damage in–”

“Don’t need the status report, J.,” Tony interrupts, not wanting a run-down of his injuries. “Just need you to tell Steve I’m busy and can’t join him for breakfast. You think you can manage that?”

“…Of course, sir.”

Tony reaches into his nightstand, pulling out a mobile desktop cuff. Strapping it to his wrist, he activates his holographic workstation and pulls up the schematics for his newest suit. He might as well get some work done while he’s <strike>hiding from Steve</strike> lounging in bed. After all, a billionaire playboy philanthropist’s work is never done.

* * *

He’s redesigned the plates on his suit to reduce the drag coefficient by 2% and is already halfway through the backlog of work Pepper has been trying to get him to complete for weeks when he finally decides to review his video messages.

There’s one from Pepper asking him if he is okay. Apparently his sudden uptick in productivity is cause for concern.

But most are from Steve.

Steve looks disappointed but understanding in the first message. “Hey Tony, J.A.R.V.I.S. told me something came up with SI. Hope everything is okay.”

The second comes three hours after the first. “You didn’t come down for lunch, so I left you a sandwich and a bag of chips on a tray outside the lab. There’s coffee in the thermos, which should keep it hot for a while. I noticed the windows are still opaque. I guess you never lifted the lockdown,” his brow knits together in confusion. “And um… I don’t want to bother you, but I was thinking we could catch dinner together later, if you’re not too busy.”

The third message is not too long after that, “Tony, I’m not sure if you’re recalibrating J.A.R.V.I.S., but he’s been malfunctioning all day. Doors keep closing on me, the shower I took after my run was ice cold then boiling, and–” the video feed suddenly cuts off. The last two messages in the queue also disappear.

“J! Cut it out.”

“Whatever do you mean, sir?” J.A.R.V.I.S., the little shit, feigns ignorance. It’s impressive, considering deception is typically a human trait.

“It’s not his fault,” Tony mumbles.

“Your inability to sit without pain and significant discomfort indicates otherwise,” J.A.R.V.I.S. says dryly.

“Stop antagonizing Steve. He might take it as foreplay.”

The silent disapproval is deafening.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Relax. It was a joke. You usually like my jokes.”

“Only the funny ones, sir.”

Tony rolls his eyes and looks over at the photo on the nightstand of him and Steve reclining on the couch in the Avengers Tower. They lean against each other, two halves of a lopsided teepee in the center as they crowd in to take a selfie. Steve looks unfairly adorable biting his bottom lip in concentration as he tries to angle the camera just right, with his thumb off the lens.

Tony minimizes the armor schematics, bringing up search results for a series of ever-larger anal dilators that promise to stretch him gradually in preparation for the coming weeks. He drags it into his cart, adds the exorbitant fee for next-day shipping, and completes his purchase. He just needs to avoid Steve until he’s good and loose.

* * *

Tony misses dinner that night as well as all meals the following two days, choosing instead to go on a liquid diet supplemented with snacks from what he has available in his in-suite bar. On the third day, he emerges from his self-imposed exile three hours after Steve’s normal bedtime, intending to sneak into the kitchen to squirrel away a stash of protein bars to refuel.

Steve is waiting for him, clocking his presence before Tony has time to retreat.

“Busy week?” he inquires, advancing on Tony.

To his credit, Tony doesn’t back down. Placing his hands on his hips to keep them steady, he shrugs and half-lies, “Busier than most.” With the proper motivation, he had gotten quite a bit done. Pepper had been happy, mostly, after he had called to assure her he was fine and hadn’t been replaced by a life model decoy. He had never gotten around to calling Steve back, though.

“I missed you,” Steve says, encircling his arms around Tony and giving him a peck at the corner of his mouth. “Do you want me to re-heat dinner? Tonight was cashew chicken and honey walnut shrimp from that one place down the street. J.A.R.V.I.S. must have forgotten I’m allergic to nuts.”

Tony gives his A.I. a disapproving look from over Steve’s shoulder, being sure to stare directly into the corner security camera to lodge his unspoken complaint. “I’ll be sure to look into his programming. Perhaps there’s a problem with the personnel database.”

Steve hums then drags his lips down to nuzzle into Tony’s neck. “Are you hungry?” he murmurs into the skin there. “Because I’m starving.” He undoes Tony’s belt and slides down the zipper.

Why did Tony put off training his ass? To give himself time to heal first, both physically and psychologically, but now here he is in this predicament. He’s not ready, but Steve is, prepared to take his due. So, Tony braces himself for pain, waiting for Steve to undo his own pants, lift him up, and thrust inside, perhaps after a short perfunctory fingering to open him up just enough to ease the slide if he’s lucky. It’s been three days. Has it even been long enough for the tearing to heal completely? Will Steve be too wrapped up in the feeling of Tony’s body stretched tight and warm around his dick to notice when he bleeds?

Steve presses Tony’s back up against the counter. “You might want to hold onto that,” he says, but instead of flipping him over and pushing down his pants, Steve drops to his knees, only pulling out Tony’s dick to engulf the soft member in his mouth, allowing it to grow as he messily licks and sucks at it until Tony is panting hard, hands gripping the counter on both sides and body slumped to hover over Steve.

“Steve,” Tony gasps. “Steve, I’m almost there.”

Steve mumbles his agreement, his tongue swiping around his head, leaving it shiny and wet with saliva.

“If you’re going to… We should get to it before I cum.” Tony might have a high libido, but he’s older now with a longer refractory period. How will he take Steve’s dick then with no building pleasure to temper the inevitable pain?

Steve pulls off, stroking Tony’s erection as he states firmly, “I’m not going to fuck you again.”

“…What?”

But Steve’s mouth is already back on him, sucking at his head while he palms the shaft, tongue sliding over his hot flesh before he takes Tony all the way down, pulling back only slightly to avoid getting caught on his knot as Tony cums in large spurts down his throat.

Steve swallows, lazily pumping Tony’s dick tight around his knot at the base with one large hand. He stands when Tony finishes, wiping the side of his mouth against his wrist and clicking his lower jaw. Then, he simply tucks Tony back in his pants, allowing the man to right himself after.

“You want me to…” Tony asks once he’s caught his breath, “return the favor?” He waves in the general direction of Steve’s groin.

“No, that’s fine. I’m just glad to have been able to do something for you,” Steve replies, crossing the kitchen to reach the fridge. He opens it to extract a to-go box, holding it up to show Tony. “Dinner?”

“Since when did you become a service top?”

“Can’t a man do something nice for his boyfriend without an ulterior motive?” Steve asks instead. Quirking an eyebrow, he taps an index finger on the top of the box, bringing Tony’s attention to the still-unanswered question. Tony shakes his head, and Steve puts it back, pulling out the milk carton and pouring it into a saucepan to warm it up on low heat. “You should get some rest. You were tossing and turning so much before and then three solid days of work. Warm milk is supposed to help.”

“Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Steve?” Tony tilts his head to side, puzzling out his behavior. His boyfriend is considerate, but he’s not usually this accommodating. “You’re acting real strange.”

“Stranger than you holing yourself up for three days while J.A.R.V.I.S. spends the entire time trying to murder me?” Steve says carefully nonchalant while stirring the milk and checking the temperature with a hovering hand.

A disembodied voice chimes in, “Trust me, Captain Rogers. If I had wanted you dead–”

“Not the best time, J.A.R.V.I.S.” Tony interrupts, still staring at Steve’s back.

“I’m not stupid,” Steve says softly, the spoon stilling. “I know I hurt you before. We aren’t doing that again.”

And here he is, offering Tony an out, one he should gracefully accept, but Steve is not the only person who likes doing things the hard way. “So, just to be clear, you’re pussing out on me.”

“I’m serious, Tony.”

Tony steps up to lean one hip against the counter, confronting Steve’s profile. “So am I. I just want the record to show that I am willing to abide by the terms of our little contest, and you are the one deciding to stop.”

“Is everything a game to you?”

“No.” Tony quietly disregards his running tally of gay chicken. He is pretty sure they both came out on top in that regard, which is sort of the problem, now that he thinks about it. “I’m just thinking you’re thinking how you wish everything wasn’t so difficult between us physically. You’re in your prime, Cap, and here you are wasting it with some old alpha who can’t slick up without help or take your dick.”

Steve frowns, turning back to the saucepan. “You think our relationship is a waste of time?” he sounds angry but mostly hurt.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then why are you trying to fight me on this? Why are we even arguing right now?”

“Just admit it,” Tony snaps. “You wish you could have an omega. It would be easier.”

Steve faces him once again. “Alright! It would be easier if we were sexually compatible, okay? Maybe then, at least one of us could take a knot. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“And the truth comes out.” It hurts to hear the words out loud, but that’s what Tony wanted, right? Still… “I just don’t understand why you’d even want me anyway. There’s a line of omegas around the block who’d all love a shot at you, and yet you picked me. I know how I am; I’m difficult, even for an alpha. It makes no sense.”

Steve turns off the stove. His reply drips with quiet fury. “Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want another omega?”

“Another omega?”

He snaps his mouth shut, his expression going grim. “Forget it.”

“No,” Tony is not letting this go. “What do you mean another omega?”

“I said drop it.”

“Steve–”

“I don’t want to talk about him!”

Steve breathes heavy into the silence. Tony looks at him and just knows.

“You mean Barnes.” He is a life-long Captain America fan. He’s seen the reels, the easy camaraderie among the Howling Commandoes, particularly between Steve Rogers and James “Bucky” Barnes.

Come to think of it, Steve rarely mentions his long-time friend, not just declining to share war time stories but also keeping the details of his childhood slim as well.

“Leave it alone, Tony. Bucky has nothing to do with you and me,” Steve insists, looking as if Barnes’s death pains him even now.

“Bullshit,” Tony plants a pointed finger on Steve’s chest, getting in the other man’s face. “He’s the one you want, right? You picked me because I’m an alpha, and I could never replace him. I’m not a threat to his memory or whatever you two had, because I can never be what you really want.” He steps back. “Tell me I’m wrong.” _Please, Steve._

“Does it really matter why I was first drawn to you?” Steve asks instead.

And that is an answer unto itself.

Tony draws back as if stung, crossing his arms to draw back in himself. “I knew it. I knew you could never really want me. There had to be an angle I wasn’t seeing because I was too busy feeling lucky Captain America would ever want me at all.”

“Tony, it doesn’t matter how we began. I had my reasons. I’m sure you had your’s, but we’re together now, and we’re happy… Aren’t we?”

It’s all so clear now. Steve had been making do with his lot in the future, living this half-life in a time he didn’t belong in, playing house with an alpha who couldn’t possibly measure up to what he had lost.

“I can take it, you know. Your dick. A deal’s a deal.” He could do it. For Steve.

“We’re not doing that again,” Steve reiterates, pouring out the contents of the saucepan into a glass and sliding it towards Tony. “I’m not feeding your self-destructive tendencies.”

Tony doesn’t drink the proffered milk. “You’re just scared next month it will be your ass on the line.”

“It won’t,” he says flatly, “but that’s not the reason.”

“You think I can’t beat you?”

“Tony, that’s not what this is about.”

“Answer the question, Cap.”

“I think we’ve already proven who would win in hand-to-hand combat,” Steve replies coolly, arms crossed and chin tipped up.

Perhaps it’s the juxtaposition of Steve’s current dismissive posture against the memory of Steve so very recently on his knees with that plush mouth wrapped around his cock or the fact Tony hasn’t slept well in days and is running largely on scotch and martini olives, but a nebulous plan starts to form in his mind.

“Why are we even waiting until the month is out? Let’s have a rematch, you and I.”

“That’s stupid. Drink,” he orders, bumping the glass closer to Tony.

“Forget the damn milk,” Tony grabs the glass and before Steve can stop him, pours its contents down the sink. “Now suit up. Let’s dance.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “When I beat you, I want you go to bed and put this thing to rest. Permanently. I don’t want to hear it again. I’m serious.”

Tony remembers the dilators, still boxed up and ready to go in his room. “And _when_ I win, I want turnabout.”

Steve’s expression goes hard at that, but his temper has already brought him this far. “Fine. Whatever. You’re not going to win, but have it your way.”

* * *

Steve has the upper hand at first, getting a couple glancing hits off Tony’s middle and nearly manages to twist him into another wrestling hold, but Tony is able to rally, surprisingly forcing Steve on the defensive. Perhaps it’s Steve’s guilt and genuine desire not to hurt Tony any further that hampers his normal fighting prowess, but combined with Tony’s less-pure motivation to win, Tony is able to pin his arms around his back and his chest to the mat. His legs lock lock around Steve’s thighs, immobilizing him.

Steve pants heavily, trying to struggle out of his grip, but he is unable to throw off Tony in his Iron Man armor. Finally, he taps Tony’s arm, indicating surrender.

Tony releases him and stands, activating the release protocol on his armor, which opens smoothly like a molted shell to reveal the jubilant victor.

Steve gets up, shaking out the ache in his arms. Tony is about to crack a joke about masturbation fatigue, but the punch line dies on his tongue when Steve doesn’t even look at him, choosing instead to stare hard at the floor, his normally-imposing posture slumped in defeat.

Quiet, he turns away from Tony. He rifles through the same drawer as last time, withdrawing a half-empty bottle of lube to toss over his shoulder for Tony to catch. Still facing the far wall, he unbuckles his pants.

“Okay. Fair’s fair. You win,” he says woodenly, dropping them to his ankles along with his underwear then bending over the nearest lab counter, presenting his ass for Tony’s use per the terms of their agreement. Tony can see it in the tense set of Steve’s shoulders, the droop of his head; if Tony partakes now, knowing Steve doesn’t want this, hurting him intimately with no regard for his wishes or comfort or bodily autonomy, then it will be the beginning of the end of them.

Perhaps it’s too late even now. Maybe they’re already too damaged, and this is Tony’s last and only chance to have Steve the way he’s been dreaming of for months (all his life, if he’s being honest). He could make it good for him, he’s sure. He can prep him slow, make him enjoy the stretch. He won’t knot him today of course; Steve will be much too tight for anything like that. Tony steps behind him, placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder. Steve tenses up in anticipation, breath audibly hitching then evening out and deepening, as he waits for the breech of (hopefully slick) fingers then cock.

It would be so easy. Tony has wanted this – wanted him – for so long, and Steve won’t fight back.

“Steve… put your pants back on.” Tony squeezes his shoulder and with a pat, disengages completely.

But he doesn’t want it if Steve doesn’t.

Steve fumbles with his pants, pulling them back up and fastening them again then turning to face Tony. He crosses his arms, tapping a nervous rhythm into the crease of his inner elbow.

“Got what you wanted?” he asks.

“No, not really, but what I wanted wasn’t on offer,” he sighs, then turns away to fiddle with an upgrade to his armor. Steve waits, uncertain of what to do, so Tony waves him off from over his shoulder, still faced away from him. “You can go.”

“That’s it then?”

“Yeah… I guess it is,” Tony confirms, his vision going blurry as the hand holding his soldering gun slows.

It feels like an end.

He waits until he hears the door close to put down the tool. Placing his palms on either side of his project, he drops his head down and heaves deep gasps of air to stave off the worst of it.

It’s over. They’re done.

Nothing to do now but return to the status quo, from before they ever started to mess around.

That’s the plan anyway, only it doesn’t work like that.

Steve moves out first thing in the morning, packing his personnel effects in a couple duffle bags, strapping them to his motorcycle, then riding out, back to the barracks of the Triskelion where he had first lived upon waking from the ice.

Several hours later, after Tony wakes and is informed by J.A.R.V.I.S. what has happened, he stands in Steve’s empty room, breathing in his residual scent, masculine and perfect and no longer his. Tony lies down on the mattress, burying his face in Steve’s pillow. If he just closes his eyes, maybe he can pretend…

But Tony is a pragmatist. He’s never been good at not facing reality, so after a few minutes, he gets up and leaves, closing the door on his way out.

* * *

Captain America still answers Avengers’ call to action, suited up and ready to go. He and Iron Man still work well together in the field, playing off their strengths, covering each other’s six, and leading their team to victory.

Afterwards, it’s radio silence between Steve Rogers and Tony Stark with the former flying in the QuinJet and the latter flying in his suit and any necessary instructions passed through one of the others.

“Cap says to come inside. He misses you and wants some post-mission nookie,” Clint tells him through the comm.

“No, I didn’t,” Steve protests, and it’s good to hear his non-Captain America voice.

“He complained we were sloppy picking off the last twenty Doom-bots. He wants us in the Triskelion gym for team practice at 0600 hours tomorrow, which is pretty much the same thing,” Clint clarifies. “I only translated the sub-text to English for you.”

“There was no subtext.”

Banner chimes in in Clint’s defense, “It is a valid interpretation of what was said.”

“This line is meant for emergency use only,” Tony replies in what he hopes is a professional tone he generally has very little need for.

“Maybe it’s not an emergency for you, but we have to share the Quinjet with the guy, and–”

Clint is cut off by Natasha.

“Stark doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to do,” she says. Tony is momentarily grateful to her until she can’t help but add, “Even if the rest of us have to suffer for it.”

“…Make it 0800 hours then,” Steve acquiesces. “That will allow everyone enough travel time, and I can get a run in beforehand.”

“C’mon, Stark,” Clint pleads. “Take one for the te– Ow!”

* * *

Once back on solid ground, Steve lingers in the hanger after the others have gone downstairs. Tony lands near him, lifting up the visor.

“Hey,” Steve greets him.

“Hey yourself.”

“It’s been a long time,” he continues, carefully nonchalant, resting his palms on his hips. “You look good.”

“So do you,” he eyes Steve’s biceps. “Did you get the Stark punching bags I sent to Fury?”

“Yeah, they’re great. Don’t disintegrate after a couple hours like the standard ones. Thanks.”

“Hm.” Tony hums, looking around for any distraction from the painfully awkward conversation in which he now finds himself. “So…”

“I miss you, Tony,” Steve says abruptly, his face open and honest. “I saw the pictures of the Maria Stark Foundation charity gala from last weekend. You looked so happy with that blonde omega on your arm. Johnny, was it?”

“The Human Torch,” Tony confirms, knowing exactly which photo spread Steve is referring to. “The press loves a good superhero romance. His brother-in-law is an old colleague of mine. I wouldn’t read too much into it.”

“I know I have no right. I shouldn’t be jealous, but I was,” he admits, his hands clenching then opening. “I am. It’s not your problem, but maybe…” he doesn’t finish that sentence, any suggestion he might have had discarded as too big of an ask. Tony can see it in his face.

“I miss you, too, you absolute asshole,” Tony finally says, exasperated. “And I don’t even mean the sex. I miss how we used to talk and go out, or how I’d know you always had my back even if we disagreed. I even miss our arguments – the fun ones, not the relationship-ending ones. I miss our friendship, Cap. I miss _us_.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Steve offers. “We could just stop; go back to how things were. Start over.”

Tony throws up his hands. “I’d love to; I really would, but I don’t know how to move forward. I can’t un-know that I’ll never measure up in your eyes. That maybe one day, when you’re less sad or more proactive or just over it, you’ll look at me and think, ‘I could do better.’ Because you can. You can find someone else, an omega this time. Then, you can have the simple life you’ve always wanted with the white picket fence and children that look like you. Maybe a dog – you seem like a dog person. It would be easy.”

“What is it about the months we’ve known each other that makes you think I like easy?”

That gives Tony pause. The man had a point. “…Fair enough, but my statement still stands: I will always come in second to the omega you lost.”

“Tony, it’s not like that. It’s…” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have to understand. Back when I was a kid, I was a real runt. Asthmatic. Bad knees, the whole package.”

“A real prize,” Tony quips.

Steve gives him the stink-eye but continues, “I was an alpha nobody ever looked at twice, but Bucky… Bucky saw something in me. He was an omega, but he was strong and confident. Clever, you know, and had a lot’a moxy. Kind of like you. Whenever my mouth would write a check my body couldn’t cash, he’d always be there to pull the other guy off me. He made me feel like I was worth something, because even when I had nothing, I had him,” he says, getting a far-away look in his eye before his gaze drops to his hands gripped tightly into fists. “You know, we were supposed to settle down after it was over. The war. And yeah, we were gonna buy a house, get a dog, raise a family. But then he– he died, and our dreams, they died with him. I was supposed to die, too. I went into that water thinking that was it. I was done. Go out in a blaze of glory saving everyone. Bucky would have been so proud. And when I woke up here, in this time, I was angry. It wasn’t fair. None of it. I wasn’t supposed to be the one who made it, you see.” He looks up to meet Tony’s eye, his voice full of wonder. “And then I met you.”

“An alpha who you’d never have real feelings for,” Tony says, too weary and emotionally drained for this.

“An aggressive spitfire with gumption,” Steve corrects him. “You don’t get a lot of omegas like that. Bucky had it, but it’s rare, and yeah… I’m not going to lie and tell you the whole alpha thing wasn’t a plus at the time. I wasn’t in a good place, and maybe I was looking for something that couldn’t possibly last–”

This is old news to Tony. Steve doesn’t have to rub it in.

“But that doesn’t mean that’s what I found,” he continues. Tony’s thoughts stutter to a halt. “I found you, and you’re– you’re more than what I thought. You’re smart and brave and always willing to call me out when you think I’m wrong. You cover my blindspots, see the angles I’ve missed. You… you complement me, balance my faults, even though we’re both alphas. Maybe because we are; I don’t know. We make each other better, and I– I wasn’t expecting that.”

Steve sighs, looking up to stare into Tony’s eyes. “So yeah, I loved him – a part of me always will – and of course I miss him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t… care about you, too. It doesn’t make what we have any less real.”

“Doesn’t it?” Tony is skeptical. He may be a billionaire, but he can’t afford false hope. Not now.

“Stop trying to make me feel guilty for having a past,” Steve retorts. “You’re in your forties, and I’m not trying to shame you, but your little black book _is_ the phone book. I’m sure you’ve had plenty of relationships. You must have had feelings for someone before me.”

Tony is suspiciously quiet.

“…Right?” Steve doesn’t sound so sure of himself anymore, and his eyes are softening in a way Tony distinctly dislikes. “Tony… Am I the first person you’ve ever…”

It sounds like pity.

“No. That would be preposterous. Absolutely ridiculous,” but the denial sounds hollow even to Tony.

“It doesn’t matter. Nothing that happened before we met counts when it comes to you and me,” Steve says resolutely. “The question is: Do you still want to try? Do you think _we_ are something worth salvaging?” He sounds almost hopeful.

“You know I’m not an omega,” Tony feels the need to emphasize yet again, as if either of them could forget it. “If we do this, we’re never going to have the same type of bond you and Bucky had.”

“No, but that would be true with anyone. Every relationship is different,” Steve points out. “For what it’s worth, I think we can have something great if you’re willing to give it a chance.”

“Are you sure this is what you want?” _Last chance to back out, _Tony thinks, because once Steve agrees to this, Tony is never letting go.

Steve steps in, gathering Tony in his arms. “Yes,” he says soft and breathy.

* * *

**Three Months Later**

Steve kisses a path down from his lover’s temple to his neck while leisurely stroking Tony’s dick, angling it upwards.

“Ready?” he whispers in his ear.

Tony moans and nods, thrusting up into Steve’s palm in agreement then stilling.

Steve throws his leg over, clear to the other side of Tony’s hip to straddle his pelvis and slowly bear down on his erection. It slips in easily, Steve’s hole slick and loose from weeks of preparation courtesy of a generous amount of lube and his own set of dilators of increasing size.

Tony sits up, mouthing at one of Steve’s erect nipples, alternately sucking and licking, as he kneads the firm twin globes of ass riding atop his dick. Steve is so wet and hot inside, better than anything Tony could have imagined, and he is all his.

Tony lightly presses against Steve’s chest, pushing him back while he follows, kneeling to hover over Steve and thrust into his welcoming body, whispering praise and sweet nothings against his neck all the while. His hands travel up and down Steve’s sides to settle on his hips, which he grasps to grind against his dick in rolling waves. Steve is careful not to crush him as he holds him close, craning his neck to capture Tony’s lips once again, the only sounds between them heavy breathing and the slick slap of flesh sliding against flesh.

When Tony feels his knot expand, he slips halfway out of Steve, still wary of hurting the man, but Steve slides back down.

“It’s alright,” he mumbles. They had measured the circumference of his knot one adventurous afternoon and had deemed the largest dilator acceptable in preparing Steve’s hole to take it.

Tony slows as his knot fills, locking the two of them together as if they were meant to be. Steve’s breath hitches then evens out, his pupils still blown, his dick still hard and purple-red between them.

“See?” he looks almost smug.

_I love you,_ Tony thinks but doesn’t say, not wanting the first time he tells Steve to be while he is literally balls deep inside him. It seems so cliché, almost disingenuous. And what if Steve doesn’t return the sentiment? That would be an awkward half hour.

But that little niggle of doubt is silenced when Steve kisses him yet again, idly tracing shapes in the skin of his lower back. It might be Tony’s imagination, but he thinks Steve might be writing _I love you_ in wide swirly cursive with the tip of his finger.

Tony repeats the motion, mirroring it where his hands rest along Steve’s chest, over his heart. _I love you, too._

Steve laughs, and Tony smiles.

_I’ll always love you._

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have ideas about a canon-compliant CAWS/Civil War sequel where Steve learns Bucky is alive, and Tony struggles with jealousy knowing Steve’s omega is back in play. In the end, he decides to help Steve because Bucky is important to Steve and also the lynchpin to a global conspiracy, but then Tony watches the video and realizes just how deeply Steve has betrayed him by withholding certain information. Of course, Steve is forced to stop him from killing Bucky because although he’s no longer romantically in love with Bucky, he still loves Bucky and doesn’t want him to die. Steve and Tony’s factions are eventually forced to work together, which allows them time to hash things out. I’d like to write it, but eh… so many fics in the queue to write. 
> 
> Anyways, this is based on this Kinkmeme Prompt in Full: there are too few alpha steve/alpha tony fics around - bonus points for knotting and neck kink
> 
> Edited 1/2/2020 to add: I've decided to write two sequels to this. One will essentially be a remix of Civil War, and the second will be completely canon-divergent, ignoring Infinity War and Endgame entirely. These will likely be posted in late January or February of this year in a series with this fic.


End file.
